


The Wrong Way

by Anathema_Cat



Series: The Wrong Way [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Football, Angst, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Off-screen Relationship(s), Swearing, Unrelated Fíli and Kíli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anathema_Cat/pseuds/Anathema_Cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Failure shades Fili’s days and haunts his nights despite undeniable career success. Fili’s life appears as golden as his hair. He is lucky, talented, and determined - but fear sent him down a path ever divergent from the one he wants above all else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spnhell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnhell/gifts).



> Wishing a very Merry Christmas to my friend and beta reader [deanohell](http://archiveofourown.org/users/deanohell/works). And I couldn’t have wished for a better substitute beta reader – thank you, [My_Trex_has_fleas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Trex_has_fleas/pseuds/My_Trex_has_fleas/works)! 
> 
> Happy holidays to everyone - I hope you enjoy (?) the angst. :) _All references to “football” are to American football (what can I say, I’m American)._

The air left Fili Durin's body as he slammed onto his back and into complete silence. He tried to bring the hazy, pale sky into focus. His head hurt, which wasn't unusual, but this wasn't right. He did the slamming. That's why he chose defense over the star power of offense. So why was he on his back now? And games were never this quiet, even back when they were losing. And who... he passed out when they moved him to a stretcher.

  


* * *

  


Beeps and brisk voices and concerned eyes looking into his. Brown eyes, almost the right color, not the right shape. Compassionate but not personal. A masked face, just eyes, tried to reassure him. He didn't know why, though - he felt nothing, as if he could float away. "Stay with me, son. Stay with me..."

  


* * *

  


Another pair of brown eyes watched him, but he could make out nothing more than that. A gruff voice said, "Durin! Shape up!" 

_What the hell? He can’t talk to me like that now, can he?_

“We won't lose you, soldier!” 

Fili thought he responded with a chuckle that they couldn't keep him after all this time and two deployments. 

"Not what I meant." That voice had never wavered, through years of training and the constant dreary readiness peppered with intense danger - a strong, tough, confident voice. It cracked.

  


* * *

  


"Come back to me, Fili, my love." Fili blinked dry, gritty eyes, tried to make out the shape sitting next to him. Brown eyes again, eyes full of love. A warm hand holding his. Maybe, but this hadn't happened. Kili had never... He couldn't hold on.

  


* * *

  


The warm hand and the loving gaze were still there when he regained consciousness. Now he recognized the hand was too small, the eyes too familiar, to be anyone other than his mother. Oh, his poor mother, who must be sick with worry and...

"Mom." The croak barely made it out of his tight throat. She squeezed his hand, and he took a shaky breath and tried again. "Momma, I'm here. But -" 

He instinctively tried to sit up, panicked when he couldn't, until a gentle but firm hand pressed on his chest. "Shh, you're okay, just immobilized."

"Mom, how are you here?"

"You're home, sweetheart. Almost home," she said with tears in her voice.

  


* * *

  


So long ago now, a different life, a life full of hope and promise, he looked into the brown eyes that led him here. The moment he looked into Kili's dark brown eyes, he was lost. 

No, not true. Not lost. Found. Kili's eyes called him to the path on which he belonged. He didn’t know it then. But he figured it out, and turned away from it, quickly. It was Fili who chose to spurn the path, Fili who got lost. Without the depths of those eyes, holding him, anchoring him, he was lost.

  


* * *

  


"You need help?" A deep voice laughed. Fili suppressed a sigh, squared his aching shoulders, and looked up from the big book on the little desk swimming in the gigantic classroom into the most beautiful dark eyes he had ever seen. 

The laughter in the voice held his attention, though - the laughter he took for mocking but later learned was almost always there. Kili was happiness. Kili was gone.

"Because I'm a dumb jock?" Fili snarled.

"Are you?" Kili responded with a grin.

"Dumb?" Fili started to stand up.

The grin disappeared in an instant, and Kili held his hands out in apology. "No, no, of course not. A jock. Are you, um. That?"

Fili settled back down and rubbed his forehead. He just needed to finish up this last problem before practice. "I'm sorry. A lot of people. We're well... Uh, it's known." He stopped. He would sound so arrogant. He was just used to people knowing he played football. Started on their Division I squad, in front of tens of thousands of people. That mattered to far too many people who otherwise had no interest in him. 

"Oh!" Kili's face and voice lit back up. Only he wasn't "Kili" then, was he? Just the guy with the brown eyes... 

The guy with the eyes raised a finger in an "ah ha" moment. "Football. I'm sorry, I just transferred here, not familiar yet." He flashed a huge white smile that lit up the room. "I should've known by your shoulders!"

Fili just stared. Shook his head. Looked at the eyes sidelong. "Uhh...?"

Fili remembers Kili blushing. He’s not sure that really happened. Kili did have the awareness to be embarrassed when warranted, but Fili soon learned that one of Kili’s most endearing qualities was the ability to let things go. 

“You’re uh,” Kili said as he hovered hands out around his own shoulders. “You know. Wide. There. Very. Um…” He trailed off, looking down, but then perked up almost immediately as Fili continued to goggle.

“Right, so I just came back for my jacket. Left it here after physics. It’s my favorite one. Hey, are you in that class? The late one? So anyway, you’re alone and I’m pretty good at physics, but it’s pretty hard, so I thought maybe, well…” He trailed off again, gazing uncertainly at Fili from those eyes. 

Fili had thought he was tired, but now he felt like his own eyes must be wider than they’d ever been before. Was there a question in there? Was he supposed to say something? 

“Right,” the whirlwind continued. “So I’ll just be going. Gotta get to drama practice. I’m sorry I bothered you. I just… Okay, see you around.”

Fili shook his head, opened his mouth, closed it. Kili had retrieved his jacket, was on his way out. Fili needed to say something. “Thanks, man.”

He looked a question back at Fili. 

“For the offer. Just. Thanks.”

Kili had flashed his sunshine smile in return and disappeared.

  


* * *

  


They were in the same physics class, and Kili was good at it, and Fili could’ve been good had he any time to study. So Kili helped Fili, and Fili tried to ignore how those shining chestnut eyes drew him to the front of the closet and the closet door he had thought he was so far behind he’d never find a way out. 

No one knew he was gay. Not even his mother - his mother, who he loved and respected, and who wouldn’t have cared a bit so long as he was happy. He wouldn’t even tell her. He came to the door, and he watched the eyes through the keyhole, but he held tightly to the doorknob. 

He had lost his father, and with him their happy little family, and so he held tight to his surrogate family - his football team - his best friends, and his father figure, the coach who had followed him from high school. He admitted to a hope they’d accept him anyway, but he feared more than anything to threaten the easy camaraderie of the team. 

  


* * *

  


They were at a party, sprawled on a couch, legs pressed together. Fili was drunk, but not so drunk he didn’t feel the heat through his jeans. He and Kili chattered over music and beer cans, and he actually didn’t know about what, but it did allow him to admire Kili’s eyes and easy smile, and eyebrows. “You have perfect eyebrows.”

Kili laughed, genuine, loud, happy. Kili was joy. “Eyebrows?” He quirked one.

“Yeah,” Fili drawled. “Eyebrows. Dark and arch-y and expressive.”

“I guess I’ll take that,” Kili said, taking a swig of beer.

“Do you want something else?” Fili just let his mouth go. Why not? He was drunk after all.

Kili knew, though. Selfish and selfless, he knew Fili was attracted to him, he knew Fili wouldn’t admit it, and he had never pressed. “Of course not.”

Fili saw the light leave those eyes for a split second, a moment that split his heart the rest of the way. He wanted it, he needed it back. “Smile. You have a nice smile. Yeah. And hair. And uh, you’re tall.”

“Tall,” Kili said flatly, but the light was coming back. Kili bounced back, as Fili knew he would. Kili snorted. “Just compared to you.”

Fili punched his shoulder, and Kili laughed. 

“What the hell do you like about me?” Fili slurred. He would pretend he didn’t know what he was saying. He did, pressed hard against Kili’s leg with his girlfriend at this party. He doubted she’d notice. He was her stepping stone to the offense. From the quarterback of the defense, a nuance casual fans didn’t get, to the true quarterback. She’d ride Fili to tall, dark, and rich, and he couldn’t thank her enough. He could live up to expectations and avoid unwanted questions, and he didn’t have to feel guilty about his lies, his acting ability, and his vivid imagination.

“Your shoulders,” Kili smiled, slurring his words, playing along. Fili almost stopped the charade then. How could Kili keep this up? But Kili kept going. “Your golden hair, the sky of your eyes.”

“What is this, man, fucking poetry class?” Fili put some heat in his voice, but didn’t move his leg.

Kili turned serious, though. “Your strength. Your loyalty. Your courage.”

“No.” Fili did pull away then.

“I’m a coward, Kili, and you know it,” he hissed. He found his girlfriend and fled. He convinced himself that he just imagined the pain in Kili’s eyes.

  


* * *

  


Fili kept his hair long. A lot of the guys did, especially on defense. His mom liked it, girls adored it, but most of all, Kili loved it. 

Fili would pretend to be drunk, on the verge of passing out, and Kili would put braids in it. 

Everything was in its right place. Sprawled on a bed, Kili’s hands in his hair, their favorite music on the turntable.

Fili cut it off when he enlisted, just like he cut off Kili.

  


* * *

  


Pain. He had to re-learn how to use his legs. The two-a-days in Texas summer, hits from giant NFL veterans, boot camp, the brutal Afghan sun. Nothing had prepared him for this - constant physical pain that he had to voluntarily intensify in order to heal. 

He still wondered whether he had enlisted with courage or fear as he struggled to put one leg in front of the other. 

Had it been to live up to the respect in Kili’s eyes or to escape it? 

It hardly mattered now. He had finally found his courage in the tiny hand of a child. He and his company had saved a tiny village from extremists. It wasn’t much when so many had died, but it was something. He had saved that child and her family, without the slightest hesitation against overwhelming odds. Whatever he had to live with now was worth it for that.

He would never regret enlisting. Yet his reasoning, the timing, the way he left – he could have done it with Kili, but he had held firmly to a path going the wrong way.

  


* * *

  


He was a late round draft pick in the NFL. Strong, fast, talented, intelligent. Too short. 

Injuries gave him his shot, and then he was called sneaky, resourceful, inescapable. He was popular, as far as a linebacker could be. The underdog thriving against the odds.

He missed Kili. Between Kili’s acting schedule, struggling to make it in New York, and the life of a football star, they rarely saw each other. 

Their rare meetings took place in crowds, a late-night bar here, loud dance club there, one or both with an entourage. 

Fili ignored Kili's looks of longing, a need Kili now struggled to hide. A shared laugh, eyes locking before Fili turned away, hands brushing, knees bumping, touches more and more fleeting as their careers drew them apart. 

Fili's stomach clenched, shoulders tightened as he squashed, suppressed, denied Kili and the way his own mind tried to nudge them together. Fili's success in the sport he loved was so new, unexpected, fragile, he feared to rock the boat. 

  


* * *

  


"Is it not me?" 

The last thing Kili said to him. In an airport. The last time he saw Kili. 

He was too much of a coward to ask Kili what he meant.

  


* * *

  


Fili limped back to his team. The one that promised he'd have a place when he came back. The one that called him a hero, that publicly honored him at every chance. 

The one that ignored him, left him at the end of the bench. He was too short. Too damaged.

But he was no longer a coward. 

  


* * *

  


Fili told his mother that he was gay, had known for a long time. She smiled and hugged him and said she was proud of him. 

Fili's eyes teared as he returned the hug and wished for a rewind button.

  


* * *

  


Fili used his team and his agent, possibly for the last time and hopefully to the best end, to get tickets and backstage access to Kili's show. Kili had a tiny role, but he had made it to Broadway. 

Fili couldn't catch his breath the entire time Kili was on stage. Years and so much fear and near death since he'd seen him, and he was really seeing him. Kili’s dark hair was shorter and a bit less wild, and he looked to be more muscular. But he was still Kili, and he was _real_ , vibrant and beautiful. 

Fili shook as he walked toward the back. He couldn't believe he was afraid of this, more afraid than he’d ever ... Oh god.

Kili was there and still perfect, and those brown eyes were smiling at someone else. Fili watched Kili accept flowers, exchange hugs and kisses with another man. Fili looked down at his empty hands, palms up, then back to Kili with his arm slung around another, flowers thrown carelessly on a shelf.

_Should I have brought...?_ he wondered, pointlessly, as he was jostled by a loud, incoming crowd of well-wishers. Of course not, flowers weren't him, and Kili would've understood. 

How had it not occurred to him that he would be too late?

  


* * *

  


Eventually Fili could hide his limp, but he couldn’t hide how it slowed him down, made his height a problem. Whether out of a fading sense of loyalty, or the fear of the backlash sure to come from cutting a national hero, the team kept him on its bench. 

Fili joked and smiled and offered advice to his replacement and convinced everyone that he was convinced he’d play again. Every so often, he convinced himself. He didn’t mention the headaches.

  


* * *

  


Fili took pain meds with alcohol after the last migraine, and he knew he shouldn’t, and he vowed to never do so again. 

Because it reminded him of the time he told Kili they were meant to be together. It was at another party, and he really was drunk that time, and it was just after they’d gotten over the shock of having, more or less, the same unusual name. 

“What are the odds?” he’d yelled as he swayed to a popular song now lost in the past. “That – you know, that we’d meet, and get along, and … yeah.” 

“We were meant to be,” he’d said it like a joke, pointing at Kili with his nearly empty beer bottle. The eyes agreed, tried to draw him in. 

Fili desperately sought a different path, one he'd never find.

  


* * *

  


Fili was on his back again - second time since he became the starting middle linebacker in high school. He did _not_ get tackled. He had been, though … What had happened this time? He couldn’t even see a hazy sky.

He could dream, at least, as he floated. He wondered if the asshole who had gotten him suspended two games had felt like this when Fili had knocked him out so many years ago.

  


* * *

  


Fili was at a raucous college bar with Kili and some of their cautiously mixing groups of friends, jocks and actors, tutors and those who required their assistance, the lines blessedly blurred since high school. Fili went for another round. 

Yells and chairs crashing to the ground managed to overwhelm the loud rock music and everyone who had been yelling over it. Fili swung around, on alert, seeking Kili’s dark head. _No._

Kili was in the middle of it, someone from outside their crowd in Kili’s face. Kili straight and calm. Uncertain faces, some backing away, some looking eager for a fight. “Fag,” floated over the crowd as Fili shouldered, elbowed, pushed his way through it. _Come_ on, he thought, and then he was between Kili and the one who dared threaten him.

Fili wasn’t even mad at first – the idiot was a joke. Big, hairy, ugly, drunk as hell. “Hey, man, you say something?”

The idiot tried to focus smarmy eyes. “Get out of the way, shorty, my problem 's not with you.”

Fili rolled his eyes. “What’s your problem?”

“Fags. Abominations. 'M gonna get 'em out of here.”

“That’s an awfully big word,” Fili responded. “Know what it means?”

Kili and a few others laughed. The idiot’s red eyes widened, and he roared. “You a fag, too, or just a fag lover?”

“Doesn’t matter. Get out of here while I’m giving you the chance.”

The guy huffed and puffed, and waved a crowd of frat boys in khakis over. “We’re cleaning them out. Move, or we will move you.”

Fili laughed now, looked back at his teammates gently trying to move Kili out of the way, lining up behind Fili. Fili shot a glance at one, raised an eyebrow. “Dude went after Blaine – Kili just stood in the way.”

The music shut off abruptly as some old guy yelled something about getting out of his bar. As Fili turned back toward the problem, he saw the big guy grab at Kili's arm. "Touch him again, and I will kill you."

The asshole obviously didn't believe him. "Your friend there is a fag." 

Fili grinned. The guy snarled and charged toward Kili. He bounced off of Fili. The guy came up screaming, and Fili punched him in the face. “And never say that again, shithead.”

And then tables crashed, and glass broke, Fili’s buddies cleared the bar, and Fili was suspended from the football team for two games. He had started it.

  


* * *

  


_Oh no, not more brown eyes._ More of the wrong brown eyes. His mom should be the only person other than Kili allowed to look at him with brown eyes. This one looked a bit familiar. 

Ah. They’d called in an army doctor. Right, that was in his restructured contract.

“You have to quit playing football, son,” he said into the stillness. “How’s your head?”

“My leg isn’t going ever going to fully heal, is it?” Fili responded.

“No.”

“Then my head hurts like hell,” he said with a hint of a rueful smirk.

“Your brain can’t handle hits like it could before you were wounded. The next one could kill you. Or worse.”

“Damn. Well. I appreciate your honesty.”

“I’m sorry I have to say it, but you have to hear it. You may have irrevocable damage as it is. It’s imperative you avoid further injury.”

“I think I knew.” He paused in thought, grateful for the doctor's silence. “I still love it.”

“Football?”

“Yes.”

“I loved watching you play.”

“Well. I had a good run. I really didn’t expect to make it to the NFL. Can I sit up?”

The doctor stood up with an arm out. “Let’s take this slowly.”

  


* * *

  


Kili watched the two games on TV with Fili. Of course Fili’s other friends were at the game. So was his girlfriend. Kili hadn’t even asked, he’d just shown up, in silent support. 

Initially silent support. Between Fili’s pacing rants, armchair coaching, and very vocal frustration at not being there for his team, Kili joked about the new uniforms and how terrible they’d look on Fili, disputed the refs, argued good-naturedly with Fili’s calls, and kept them supplied with beer and pizza. 

Had they won those two games, Fili would’ve been glad for the suspension.

  


* * *

  


Fili moved on with his life. He had to. If not for himself, then for his mom. She’d lost her husband, she’d been an amazing single mother, she’d almost lost her son. He would not hurt her again.

He wanted to coach, but even that was a bit too much yet for his body. He joined the cadre of talking heads who babbled incessantly about football as if it was the only thing in the world that mattered. He supposed that made things easier.

He found out all too quickly that he couldn’t date men with brown eyes. Years later, they reminded him of Kili, of the path he was supposed to be on. He simply couldn’t look into those other brown eyes without knowing how very wrong they were. 

He had loved the contrast between Kili and himself. Light and dark, loud and quiet, tall and short, brash and thoughtful, long and lean and wide and heavy. So he dated men with green eyes, blue eyes, men he could feel temporary attraction to, be temporarily distracted by.

  


* * *

  


Right before Fili retired, he figured he had nothing more to lose, and did something out of character. His agent asked Kili’s agent to meet Fili on top of the Empire State Building. 

It was stupid, it was cheesy, it was cliché. But Kili loved old movies, and he’d made Fili watch that one more than once. Fili endured for the joy it brought Kili - and the disputes they had on whether it really was romantic. 

And so Fili paced up there, heart alternating between wild erratic pounding and stuttering trepidation, for several hours. He was a less dashing Cary Grant, in darkness and wind, alone with the tourists. 

How had it not occurred to him that he would be too late?


	2. Found

Almost famous couldn't keep stable contact information. Fili's private number had been included in that stupid Empire State Building invitation.

Many months passed, and Fili got a text from an unfamiliar number. His heart skipped a beat, and he almost dropped his phone from fingers suddenly gone numb. Somehow he just knew. 

"Did you love me?" it said. 

Plain black, jumping off the screen. He closed his eyes, just breathed.

"Yes."

Nothing for days.

"You were right. You were a coward."

"I was."

Weeks. Weeks that Fili played his talking head role to perfection, empty, terrified, exultant. Terrified.

His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest the next time he got a message from Kili. "I loved you."

"I know." 

  


* * *

  


Fili brought up, focused on, settled into the worst memory of his life, after his father dying. He had pushed it away for too long, and he needed - deserved - the pain.

Somehow Kili had found out where Fili was flying from on his way to deployment. Fili had broken all contact when he'd decided he needed to enlist - when he admitted to himself that he was torturing Kili along with himself. 

Kili showed up out of breath like a scene from a movie. But no movie star ever looked that broken, that exhausted, the once-beautiful dark eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. Fili had never loved him more. 

The 'Fili, don't' croaked out of dry lips, and Fili wanted nothing more than to cradle him like a lost kitten. The ‘I waited for you’ was a plaintive cry. But it was far too late for Fili to back out, so he turned his back and walked away.

  


* * *

  


Another week with nothing but headaches, and Fili knew he needed to say something. His thumbs typed and deleted "I'm sorry" at least a thousand times.

He finally settled on "Can I see you?"

"No."

"Kili, I am sorry. I am so sorry. And I know that's not enough." 

He couldn't put into words how badly he fucked up, how he had let fear destroy his feelings, what a monumental mistake he had made, how much he regretted it - every moment of every day, how he longed to knock sense into that coward he had been, how he admired Kili for his restraint, how much he had missed Kili every single day for years. How he would never have believed it was possible to miss someone for that long. He needed to, for Kili, regardless of the outcome.

He didn't know how to. So. Send.

It took a few minutes that felt like days, but finally Kili sent something back. "I managed to create a life without you. It's not the one I wanted, but it's the one I have. Can't just throw away."

Fili understood. His phone clattered to the hardwood floor. He hoped it broke.

  


* * *

  


The longing was terrible.

Fili thought that he needed to let Kili go, as Kili had him, but he wouldn't let himself off that easy. And he wasn’t ready yet.

Fili saw a few of Kili’s shows, hunched in a corner seat in the back of Off Broadway theaters. He didn’t know whether Kili had been unable to break into bigger Broadway roles, preferred the somewhat more intimate theaters or the less commercialized atmosphere, or some mix. Whatever the reason, Kili shone in strong supporting roles, a chameleon who brought out the best in the leads.

Fili dreamed of Kili often. Bittersweet, painful, vivid dreams. Dreams of secretly watching Kili’s every move on stage, of what could’ve been, what should’ve been, of touches that woke him with painful erections he refused to satisfy, nightmares of Kili in pain that tormented his days. 

Before sleeping, Fili too often imagined running his hands down Kili’s chest, along his abdomen, the feel of his lips on the dark hair as it thickened and flared down below narrow hips. How would it feel to have his tongue swirl a nipple, hands grasping those hips as he pressed their bodies together? Would Kili’s hands burn his shoulders if he finally got to hold onto him there, like Fili knew he had always wanted to? What did Kili _sound_ like when he was undone? 

Late at night, alone in the dark, he’d imagine touching every bit of skin on Kili’s body, then he’d touch himself lazily until he could hear Kili moaning in pleasure, picture their tongues entwining as they moved together. He’d make himself come with an empty yell – only that one part of his body temporarily sated.

The desire was an aching, haunting thing.

  


* * *

  


Fili didn't know what Kili did after he turned his back on him at the airport security gate, how Kili must have looked. Fili had blocked all thoughts of it from his mind and focused single-mindedly on his mission. 

Fili pictured it now. Fili barely made it to the bathroom before he vomited the bottle of 18-year-old Scotch he had just failed to enjoy.

Fili opened another $100 bottle and vomited the longest thing he'd written since school, outside of the letters to his mother from Afghanistan. Way too long for text, it didn't do justice to his or Kili's feelings yet seemed way too sappy. He hated it. He sent it anyway. 

Kili didn't respond.

  


* * *

  


Fili slept-walked through his daily routine for weeks. He wore a mask at work, and he only spoke to his mother. He was finally offered a coaching job. He turned it down. Old teammates tried to lure him to games with box seats, unlimited drinks, after parties. He ignored them. He was asked out on dates. He was barely able to contain a bitter laugh when he turned them all down.

He decided it was indeed time to let Kili go. He just didn’t know how.

  


* * *

  


Fili quit bothering with doctors when he accepted that headaches also would haunt the rest of his life. His leg was pronounced as healed as it ever would be, he could walk without a limp, and he had done what he could to avoid further injury. He chose to view the pain as penance. What more need for doctors did he have?

  


* * *

  


"Meet me Gantry Park south 7pm Thursday.”

Fili’s phone dropped to the floor for the second time in his recent life. This time the screen cracked. He followed the fracture with his dead eyes and laughed.

Fili’s return “ok” left out that this was during his next broadcast, that it was too late for him to get a replacement, that he’d have to call out sick day of, how much that was frowned upon, that it could be a break for whomever was pulled in to cover - and how little any of that mattered to him.

Fili couldn’t sleep the next two nights, so he didn’t have to fake the weak voice that apologized for being unable to make it in. In a daze, he dressed in clothes he hoped matched. He had wanted to impress Kili, now he just aspired to actually making it to the meeting without imploding. He looked at his exhausted face in the mirror, the short blond hair missing its usual luster, the fine lines around his eyes deepened from worry and exhaustion. Maybe Kili would feel sorry for him. Right.

 

Fili watched the sun approaching the Manhattan skyline, dying for and fearing Kili’s arrival. His hands shook, just like they did during Kili’s shows. He couldn’t believe that could actually happen to someone. To him. Coward he may have been, but he had always thought he could hide it.

“Fili.”

 _Oh my god, it’s happening. I can’t believe he’s here. I’m going to see him._ He squared his shoulders, took a shuddering breath, turned around. And there he was.

“Ki-“

"Asshole," Kili growled as he punched Fili in the face.

Fili barely felt it through the shock, and he stared wide-eyed into _the_ eyes, finally the _right_ eyes, the brown eyes he’d dreamed of since he’d first seen them. Still as deep and perfect as ever, even overflowing with anger.

"God damn it,” Kili fumed. “You are still beautiful. Fuck me, I still want you, and I fucking hate you for it." 

"I'm -"

"Don't." Kili held up a hand, then just stood there with narrowed eyes, breathing hard. 

Fili nodded, blinked tears out of his eyes, waited under the glare of those eyes. 

"I came back from ruins. Myself. I learned to live without you.”

This hurt Fili more than any of it, and that was saying something. His resilient Kili, the person who bounced right back from every blow life ever dealt him, had been taken out by the one who loved him the most.

“And. And fuck you, Fili, how can I live my life without you now?”

A long silence twisted around and tore at Fili’s heart, along with the barest tendril of hope.

“But I don't know how to get out of it," Kili whispered.

Fili pressed his eyes closed, rubbed his jaw. He almost nodded, but no, that would've been the coward he left behind. He looked at Kili, tall, dark, gorgeous, seething Kili. Older, more serious, but still Kili. He wasn't letting go ever again.

“We will figure something out. We have to. We belong together,” Fili said, voice gaining strength as he squashed doubt. “I know I – I know it’s late, Kili, so late, and I’m sorry, but. Kili. You. You _belong_ with me.”

Kili stared. _Oh god, Kili, please. Please._ Fili, stomach roiling, muscles tense, held his breath for longer than he would’ve ever thought possible. A seagull screamed into the silence.

Finally, "You have to give me time."

Fili's knees almost gave out. They gave out. He sat down hard, on the ground. He’d missed a bench by inches. His breath left in a huff, but he had to pull himself together. He looked, way up, at Kili. Fitting. "Of. Yes. Of course. God Kili. _Of course._ Anything."

Kili pursed his lips, blinked his eyes, took a long, shaky breath. "That's not all. Okay? Listen to me. You can't see anyone else.” A pause, as if he was steeling himself. “You- you have to promise me that."

Fili's eyes swam, he felt dizzy, he had a chance, fuck, he actually had a chance. He tried to control his breathing, focus on Kili before he lost him again. He struggled his way to his feet.

"Yes. Yes, I promise. Whatever you want, Kili, whatever you need, I swear."

"Do you understand what that means? I am still with someone. You can't be. It's not fair, but that's what I need to get out of it."

“It’s fair. Completely fair. I’ll do anything. Anything. And I don’t want anyone else anyway. Of course, yes, anything you want. For as long as you need. Yes. Um. Anything else?” Fili said in a rush, a tiny observant corner of his mind laughing at his Kili impression.

“You can’t contact me unless you’re responding to me.” Kili’s voice sounded soft, but the eyes were hard.

 _Oh, Kili._ “I’ve done this to you. I’ve made you tough when you want to be gentle.”

“And shut up. I don’t want to talk to you yet. I fucking hate you. I fucking want to touch you, feel that you’re real, finally, finally, get my hands on you. But I’m afraid I’ll fucking strangle you. God, Fili, why? No. Don’t answer. Not yet.”

Fili snapped his mouth shut. He opened it, Kili shook his head, he closed it. 

“You won’t contact me first, ever?”

Fili shook his head.

“I will be hurting someone. You should know that,” Kili said, voice now matching the eyes. “Not as badly as you did me, but still. This is going to suck for me and for him.”

Fili took a breath. Eyed Kili. Kili shook his head again. Fili sighed, nodded again.

“And there’s no guarantee we will work.”

“We will make it work,” Fili insisted before Kili could stop him.

Kili must have lost a hold of something, and a line of tears streamed silently down his drawn face.

Fili stilled hands and arms that longed to reach across the chasm, to begin to close the years between them. Kili nodded. “I have to go. I’m. It’s. Yeah. Later.”

Kili shrugged, almost helplessly. When he turned and walked way, though, his back was straight. He didn’t look back. 

_So strong._ Fili watched Kili until he was out of sight, then he watched the sun until it was out of sight. Then he cried until he was certain he had no tears left. 

A buzz in his pocket. He oh-so slowly pulled out his phone, checked the screen. “I love you.”

Fili had been wrong about the tears.


End file.
